


Little Dreamer

by Wanderbird



Series: This World Could Yet Be Kind [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird
Summary: Loki was dead.Thor watched them die, watched their illusions finally fail them, watched the explosion erupt that tore his brother up from the inside, Loki was *dead*. So why was he suddenly plagued with visions of them?And far away, on the streets of Paris, a child who did not exist the day before-- wakes.In which I toss MCU canon pretty much out the window! Loki does not like to stay dead, Sigyn is enough of a badass she might in fact have had the balls to marry them, and Thor misses his sibling. Oh yeah, also Dr. Strange survived. And Hela Loki's kid is not the same as Hela Thor's ill-tempered sister, because that's just weird.Works pretty well as a standalone, but this is a direct sequel to Under Lock and Key and will make more sense if you've read it. Updates every few days.
Relationships: Sigyn & Thor (Marvel)
Series: This World Could Yet Be Kind [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350874
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...I feel like I've been working on this thing forever. I certainly love how it turned out, though! Let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas for how to continue it, because I'm a little stuck there. ^_^
> 
> Chapter CWs: Non-graphic suicide mention, horrible but brief PTSD nightmares

When he dreams at night, he dreams of fire.  
Even when he cannot see the glow, he can feel its burning in his stomach as the flames devour piece after piece of him, rising up to lick his lungs into a pyre. The light and the noise—snow-that-is-not-snow, blood-soaked leather, blades and vomit and flashing guns and blinding gilt—or is it guilt?  
When he dreams at night, he dreams of cold, a cold too deep to ever bring to bay. The perfect silence—here he cannot move, he cannot speak—and no one cares. He is alone.

The child wakes.  
Heaving great breaths beneath an awning on the streets of Paris, he hugs himself a little tighter. Damned nightmares. Green eyes peer out from between two grubby forearms, and the child gazes up at a sky still strewn with stars. Smiles. The rain has cleared up since he fell asleep, and the clouds have moved along, though it is still just as cold out as before. Perhaps tomorrow there will be sun, and he will be able to trick a few more tourists out of their money before the winter falls (and something about the thought of winter fills his gut with roaches).  
The child rearranges the soggy cardboard box beneath his head, and goes back to sleep.

~~~

Thor had known something was coming for a good while now.

He knew it would be horrid, he knew people would die, he knew it would leave the surviving people of Asgard a shadow of their former numbers. How could he not? They had seers, more seers among them than almost any other people he'd encountered. For days now those seers had spent their days shut up together, sleeping apart from the others, from the youngest child to Heimdall himself that they wouldnot wake the entire ship with their screaming. The first indication, oddly enough, had been a child of only eight by the name of Narvi, who had grown distracted in the midst of a lesson only to burst into hysterical tears when he saw the-- the whatever it was. Then Heimdall had turned his gaze to the future, and grown withdrawn, and by the time three days had passed, nearly every seer on the ship had received some vision to that effect.

They wouldn't tell him what was going to happen.

Not all of it, in any case. All Thor knew was what Heimdall and Loki had mentioned, Heimdall as the de facto spokesperson for Asgard's seers, Loki out of whatever mercurial whims guided their actions. Someone was coming. And he, whoever he was, would fight Asgard and win, would fight Earth and win, would acquire six objects of great power and with them cause greater devastation than the universe had seen. Loki, at long last, had admitted that they knew who it was, though they refused to offer a name—but whoever this great destroyer was, Thor could tell that Loki had encountered him before, and the encounter had not gone well. He took his brother at their word and pretended he did not notice the way Loki's hands shook, the way their eyes evaded every face when Loki spoke of this great danger.  
The dullness in their voice.

  
So Thor took every precaution, and made sure to stay alert. He kept escape pods stationed wherever possible, each one with all the provisions they could afford to stash in them. He drilled the populace in reaching them, in escaping as quickly as possible, and found volunteers to stay behind if the situation required. Every person who could hold a weapon, be it a sword, cannon, or a simple slung stone was taught to use it as best they could manage in the limited space and resources of the ship. Loki layered enchantments of hiding in every cranny they found, and first aid kits were placed strategically in every hallway.

When disaster came, Thor thought they would be ready, thought that some number of them would survive.

He could never be ready for this.

Green eyes flickered orange in the firelight, steady on his own for half a second. What was Loki doing?! _I assure you, brother,_ the words fled too fast through his mind. _The sun will shine on us again!_ But how could it? How could they ever walk beneath a sun again? Thor barely even heard their speech, his mind whirled too much to think.  
“—my _undying_ allegiance.”  
A knife, unveiled briefly in his brother’s hand. They were… loyal after all? And in a flash, Loki was moving, and the cold blue of the Tesseract seized the sorcerer in its grasp.

No.  
It could not have been, was that the reason for that note of grim greyness in their voice? That they would—no, Thor thought, Thor wailed. No, it could not be, it would not—

Loki’s corpse dropped to the floor.  
No resurrections this time.

~~~

“Please, Hela.” It was but a dream, but Thor was reluctant to kneel before her nonetheless. If he had done the ritual right, this was actually more of a video conference to the realm of Niflheim, and no element of the dream so far had borne that possibility out. He would rather not show deference to the sister who had murdered so much of Asgard.

He knelt anyways.

His sister shook her head. “I am telling the truth. Loki is not within my realm, nor can they ever be. They have been stricken from my records, if they have ever been among them.”  
“But they were! I know Loki is not in Valhalla.” Thor tried to unclench his fists where they dug into his thighs, “And I know they are not alive, so there is no other option but that they must be with you!”

“Look,” Hela hesitated. “I have hardly met the fool, but from what I hear among the ghosts, Loki has quite a reputation for faking their own death. Are you _certain—”  
_“They were strangled, their neck broken, and they were at the center of the blast which destroyed the ship,” he snapped. “I was _there._ I was mostly uninjured when the ship went up, and even I barely survived it. Brunhilde found only singed scraps of a body, but could confirm with magic that those scraps belonged to them. I am about as positive as may be that Loki is dead.” Or perhaps they were too much a frost giant, and had gone to wherever such creatures went upon death? But usually citizens of Asgard simply went to Hel or Valhalla regardless of their species. Why would Loki do anything different?

The queen of Hel sighed. “Then I suggest you check again in Valhalla, and search for roaming spirits. Best be quick about it. There are far too many abominable ends that may destroy those spirits that have not been claimed, ends I would not wish even on our failure of a father, much less a mere inconvenient sibling. Goodbye.”

Thor did not even have the time to protest before the vision faded to black, and his own true eyes snapped open. “Loki isn’t in Hel,” he gasped. Odin’s name, how long had he sat here? His knees were all… stiff.

“A pity.” Dr. Strange finally opened his eyes. How could this human sorcerer bear to sound so… so _casual_ about all this?! Loki was _dead!_ And worse than that, more and more it seemed that Loki was entirely gone as well! “So what, either he’s alive, or…”

“Either _they_ are alive,” Thor corrected, “which I know cannot be the case, or their soul roamed the world without the confines of a body and was inevitably destroyed.” He buried his face in his hands, smoothing out tangled curls. Destroyed. Gone. No Valhalla, no Hel for Loki, it seemed. Only oblivion. “I cannot retrieve them from oblivion!”  
“I don’t see why you have the slightest desire to,” Strange put in. “Look, Loki killed hundreds of people in their attack on New York alone. They _tried_ to destroy an entire planet, and have double-crossed everyone far too many times, and that’s only _before_ they started living here. Loki allied with _Doctor Doom,_ for god’s sake! And Thanos, for a while! I’m only helping you because I wish I knew if that snake was actually, permanently dead. You know. Like I wasn’t.”

Strange was right. Of course he was right. Loki had done so many terrible things, and what was Thor even going to do if he found them? Plead with Hela to bring them back? No, Thor told himself, much as he had every other day he’d wasted in searching, it was better this way. Loki may have died well, but they lived most poorly, and at least in death they could hurt no-one else. For all the mortal magician’s impertinence, Strange truly did have the right of it. Didn’t he?

Thor had always found himself bemused by the mutual antagonism between these two great sorcerers: Strange, uniquely powerful for a mortal, intensely skilled, but only within his narrow domain—and Loki, forever incensed by the human’s complete ignorance of even basic theory and history of magic that the man had simply never focused on. It was - cute, watching Loki slide into the role of educator. Thor’s heart clenched to see how easily Strange seemed to brush all that aside now—or perhaps the man had never noticed, or never thought Loki’s pleasure in teaching to be genuine. Loki certainly hadn’t appeared to recognize it in themself. Or perhaps, as the entire universe seemed glad to assume, Thor had simply imagined all of it, that simple smile, that sense of pride. The hints that somewhere in there, the careful, mischievous, but not particularly _evil_ child yet remained.

He wished he could forget it.

~~~

When she dreams at night she dreams of pain. Whether it is her own or not, it doesn’t matter. Tonight she is bound tightly to a stone, her head resting on the floor, and she cannot see a thing because her eyes burn and blur and—“I’m sorry,” she hears a murmur from too far away. “I’m sorry, love, I will be back as soon as I may, just hold on a few seconds more.” _Does_ she hear it? Not with her ears, certainly, for there is no voice in this cave with her. Nothing but thought, in this darkened hel. A drop falls, and rolls from the bridge of her nose to her eye, searing away the flesh beneath it over again.  
She jerks. Whatever binds her here does not yield.

Drip.

“Thor.” How odd, she thinks. That voice was actually audible, not just the echo of the thoughts of a beloved. “Thor, come on,” the voice continues. Why did it sound so irritated? “We were having a conversation.” A pause.  
“Thor?”

The god snapped back to reality. Did he just…  
“A vision,” Thor breathed. And—yes, that’s where he was. The Tower of Stark, on Midgard, overlooking the hotels which had been rented out by Lady Pepper as refugee camps for the survivors of Asgard while the talks continued. As for himself—he knew he was no tiny human girl. Did all visions feel this unsettling, bring with them this confusion of identity?  
Thor shook himself before at last returning his attention outward.  
Right. The kitchen counter pressed against his right hand, and Mjolnir rested before him, next to a plate of pop-tarts waiting for the attentions of the warming device. Leaning on the counter across from him, Bruce frowned.

“Friend Banner, I have had a vision!” Thor grinned as he spoke, though his heart still churned with the pain of it. “That’s hardly ever happened before! I have never been much of one for magic, nor has magic ever been one for me.”

“Hold on a minute, so all this time when you guys talk about visions, it’s just… you space out for a few seconds?”  
“I suppose so,” Thor shrugged. “It probably does look that way from the outside.”  
He sobered. “I am certainly glad this one lasted but a few seconds, judging by its contents. I was bound in a cave, I have never much liked being bound. And there was this, there was this snake…” Wait. “Dripping poison in my eyes and…” he trailed off. It had been more acid than poison, really, and something about the entire scenario seemed immensely familiar. “Highly unpleasant. There was a woman, also, but she was out of the room, she had left with a bowl to dump the poison out that it would not spill atop us both,” But she had been speaking, and whereas Sigyn’s tongue had been cut out—Thor _hadn’t heard it,_ the realization hit. He had been hearing thoughts, not words, he’d noticed that even in the midst of the dream and—

“Loki,” his voice began to rise in pitch, “That was Loki, I remember that, I found them and—”  
But that was in the past.

“—I have to go.”

~~~

She couldn’t stay.

Sigyn had known it for a while now, a few grim months. Ever since her surviving child dissolved to naught but ashes in her arms, ever since she ran inside to find piles of dust where Teyan and her own children used to be. Out of her whole new makeshift family, only she and Mriit remained. Sigyn was still needed here, so she persisted. But now she’d come home after another day of desperate, dull-eyed research to find—

Mriit was dead.

No surprise, though she bit back tears when she found the body dangling by its neck in the kitchen. She wasn’t Mriit’s beloved, after all, only a friend. An imposter. How could she ever have hoped to fill that void with Teyan gone?  
So Sigyn washed away her tears, rolled up her sleeves.

She took the body down.  
Gave her a proper funeral as she could not give the others, and burned the body until Mriit too was reduced to ash on the wind. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Stars, she wished that she could join them. But there was one more person left for her to seek, and so Sigyn of Asgard tied her red-brown hair into a bun, packed up her few belongings into a pocket of space in a flash of violet light, and started walking for home.

At first, she did not know the one she sought was still alive. Sigyn went searching anyway, “borrowing” a ship from the nearest port to sail to Hala. The port and all its people would not miss it. Its owner was dead.

Second, Sigyn disguised herself as a trader of cloth. She sold scraps of summoned silk and Asgardian wool to the Kree, and so gained access to the planet’s surface. There she slipped away from the better-travelled thoroughfares, and on foot tread a path between blue stones just wide enough to shimmy through on hands and knees. The path wandered through hours and space uncounted, for it was just as crushed between dimensions as it was between the stones.

Third, the path let out into a cave on Jotunheim, where Sigyn paused to rest. She did not like this cave for all the memories it held, and her hands shook as she availed herself of the meager stock of food and tools which she left the last time she had passed. She did not look at the skeleton of the snake, nor the frozen bits of gut-wound rope which lurked unseeing in the corner.

Fourth, once Sigyn dragged herself from a vision of fire and blazing power, her efforts redoubled, as much out of fear as of aching hope. She left all which she did not need to carry, placed her ring upon the shelf after a moment’s hesitation in case her beloved came searching for her in turn, and began a trek across the frigid wastes to reach the nearest passage back to Asgard.

Fifth, she reached it, and screamed in despair when this passage now led nowhere.

Sixth, she tried to get back to the cave. Sixth, she lost her footing, sixth, she fell.

Seventh, Sigyn dreamed of a child half-dead; a long-gone, murdered daughter of hers. This daughter urged her back to the realm of the living, and so seventh Sigyn woke and changed her path, turning to the middle realm instead of Asgard. Seventh she stumbled along a crevasse of ice, and walked a frozen tightrope. Seventh she trudged into the light of day on the other side, and by a highway in Midgard’s Pennsylvania finally passed out.

~~~

All he’d needed to do was get to the roof.

Get to the roof, and with Stormbreaker’s help, Thor was in the air mere seconds after he realized. Loki. His vision had been of Loki. Which meant that maybe, just maybe, he could find his brother there again, though hopefully in somewhat better shape this time. Couldn’t he? He had to try, and where else would he look? It took barely a thought for the Bifrost—or more specifically, the World Tree—to envelop him.

Where was it?  
Thatrhaps, he thought with a wince, perhaps it had been destroyed when Loki almost wrecked the planet entirely. But this area looked familiar, inasmuch as anything looked familiar beneath the ever-present blanket of snow. Even now, more flurries fluttered from the twilit sky. At last Thor spied the opening, a darkened, mossy edge beneath the white. He smiled a grim, old smile and ducked on through.

The cave inside was fairly cozy.

Two chambers linked by a comfortably tall archway and reinforced with wooden beams (though where Sigyn had gotten the timber, he still had no idea). This first chamber was where Loki had been bound, and Thor could see the iced-over corpse of the dread serpent still, accompanied by bits of rope. The second had held their small stockpile of supplies, and a fire pit where Thor had sat and boiled snow, that long first day after he found them while Sigyn did her best to heal Loki’s wounds. Only a few days later, they’d returned to Asgard together. Odin had proclaimed Sigyn the goddess of fidelity for her help, and she and Loki had exchanged some thunderous look which Thor could not interpret, and soon enough he had been gone to hunt the giants responsible for the whole ordeal (he could never find them). Now… why did the cave yet smell like smoke? Thor frowned. They had not been here in centuries, and the cave was rather too small for a frost giant, and too hidden for travelers to find at random. Did he dare to hope? Thor steeled himself, and peered into the second chamber—  
Loki was not there.  
Of course.

But the cave did show signs of recent use: coals in the firepit, cold but not yet frozen. A few bolts of cloth and bags of what looked to be mostly clothing on the floor, for reasons unknown, and shelves he did not recognize inset into the wall. There was… flour? And a few strips of cured meat, dehydrated fruit, a dusty wooden herb box? What? All these provisions were not recent, precisely, but certainly new since Thor had last visited the cave. There was even a large wheel of some sort of cheese, sealed in its waxy rind, a few bottles of some sort of drink, and jar after jar of preserved vegetables sealed away. And yet… most of the food, it appeared, was gone. Whoever it was that had been here most recently had likely left. Still, Thor figured, he may as well wait and see, if he had no other leads. Evidently this place was well-equipped for overnight guests.

He was just settling down when he noticed it. There was something small, on the shelf, glinting in the light. Thor stood again and looked—  
He recognized that ring.

That was Loki and Sigyn’s wedding ring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn! 
> 
> No chapter CWs needed

Sigyn woke to white light and muffled voices.

“Hypothermia—”   
“In ninety degree heat?! What about—”   
“—severely dehydrated—”

She was moving.   
Why was she moving?   
She certainly wasn’t walking on her own two feet, and yet… Sigyn reached for her magic and ran a quick diagnostic, sending a prickle along those parts of her body she could still feel. Something was definitely wrong, but why couldn’t she think of what it was? Why couldn’t she… think? She wasn’t dying, at least. That much she could tell. After a few more seconds (minutes?), there was the faint prick of a needle in her right wrist, and Sigyn did her best to relax. She at least managed to keep her reaction limited to a sharp, almost electric shock instead of anything that would cause the person who was probably a healer any serious damage.

“Ow!” a voice sounded. “Damned static electricity. Get me that dialysis machine, I don’t think fluids are going to be enough.”  
Dialysis machine? What in Bor’s name was that? Sigyn frowned, tried to ask the figure in front of her that intermittently blocked out the light, but all she managed was a moan.

“Dear god, she’s awake!”   
That wasn’t the right voice, was it? It took a moment before the earlier speaker answered.   
“We’re damned lucky, then. The poor woman’s probably still too confused to understand what’s going on, though.” He looked down at Sigyn, leaving light to glint off the edges of those half-moon glasses as he finally addressed her directly. “Don’t worry, ma’am, you’re in good hands. You’re at a hospital in Phoenixville, and we’re working to get you back on your feet.”

It wasn’t long before the world about her went fuzzy again.

~~~

The next time Sigyn woke, she was at last blessedly still, and the blurriness had cleared from her vision. A plain white ceiling rose before her, featureless but for the light gazing down at her and complemented by the equally unadorned white walls.

A man stood before her.   
This must be Midgard, there was no doubt of it. With that balding brown hair, and tailored suit of black cloth over white with rigid shoulders like half-formed pauldrons, the absence of any buzzing seidhr beyond that of the unavoidable background magic? Midgard. The fake-concerned smirk, however, she had seen many times before.

“You’re awake,” he stated.   
Sigyn narrowed her eyes, and avoided the question implicit in the mortal’s words. “I am. What of it?”  
A pause. At last, he continued. “Call me Coulson, though you can think of me as a friend. What’s your name?”  
He was Midgardian, he had to be Midgardian, so there was likely little risk in giving him a part of her name. “Call me Sigyn,” she answered, just in case.   
“You see,” Coulson’s eyes flicked away, “I am just _positive_ I’ve heard that accent of yours before. Asgard, right? We weren’t expecting another Asgardian this summer, I mean I thought they all died anyway. You know. With Thanos?”

What was he playing at? Sigyn kept her expression as neutral as she could.   
“I would not be surprised. Asgard has never been one to bow before devastation, and would pose enough resistance even for Him to try and wipe them out completely, if only to keep them—or us, rather—out of His way.” An idea wormed its way into her brain. “How fares Thor?” She had never been a great fan of the man, but even she could not dispute his valor nor his sense of fairness. Besides, hadn’t he spent quite a lot of time on Midgard during recent years?

“And you left the refugee ship how?”   
A refugee ship? Did that have something to do with why the path to Asgard was blocked? “I was never on it, Son of Coul.” Sigyn smiled. “Surely you know Asgard has access to other planets than yours alone. If Thor is alive, he will undoubtedly find my path.” Of course, he would only be _able_ to find about a third of her path, and probably didn’t even remember she existed, much less thought that she could find her way to Midgard. But it would do no good to let this stranger know as much. Instead, Sigyn sat herself up against the bed’s headboard, legs crossed and face relaxed. “Even if he is not, there are others who knew where I was, and I know I am yet expected on Hala. I did not actually tell them of my intent to return to Asgard before meeting them again, after all.” If she was in fact expected on Hala, it would be more likely as a criminal than as a merchant, but again, this Coulson did not have to know of that, either.

The human sighed. “And why are you here, exactly?”

Sigyn blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise in her eyes. “Why do you think?! I may be a travelling merchant, but I have friends yet among Asgard’s people, and family too. With the populace in such disarray from what I suppose must be the—the cause of the Dissipation, wiping out half of them, no-one thought to contact me and tell me who remains.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here on Earth.”  
She gave the man a flat look. “The Allfather is dead, Son of Coul. The dwarves of Nidavellir are too insular to accept refugees, and the elves of Alfheim are unused enough to death that they are unlikely to be able to provide for a whole other realm in their current state, even if Asgard braved their golden tongues. No other realm along the Bifrost is precisely habitable for the Aesir who make up most of our population, so…” she shrugged. “Of course, I tried Asgard first, but—well.” She would leave that last remark as it was. Hopefully Coulson could fill in the blanks himself, as she had no idea what state the realm itself was in, beyond _not where it had been_. “In all honesty,” Sigyn laid her palms against her knees as she spoke, “I do not _know_ Asgard is here. But it is a decent bet, and I have always been a gambler. If you have need of further verification, all you need to do is call up Pr—King Thor, or whoever rules in his stead, for I am known to them.”

~~~

It had very nearly been a fortnight since the man first came.   
They were trying to contact Thor, apparently, he just wasn’t currently very… available. Coulson did not seem to have the slightest clue where he was—but then again, why would he tell her, either way? If this lasted much longer, Sigyn resolved, she would make her own way out.

The door creaked open.

“… Sigyn?”

She looked up and—“Thor!” she could not keep the energy from her voice. How exhausting it was, to sit immobile in a room like this, keeping her power hidden! It was only with difficulty that she restrained the pulse of her gleeful magic.   
The god’s face was grim. “You’re alive.” Blond hair drooped shorter than she’d ever seen it over his brow, shading bruised blue eyes in a haggard face. Thor continued. “Which means that Loki is most likely not.” He paused. “I found your wedding ring on Jotunheim.”

Loki—no. Even if, even if Thor hadn’t found them, Loki had to be alive. “The one I left there.” She sighed, face pinched in desperation. “So Loki is not on Jotunheim, is all that means,” Sigyn insisted as if she hadn’t gone over this argument a hundred times herself. “I dreamt their dreams, Thor, they cannot be truly vanished. Why would I have visions of my own past?”

“And Hela does not hold them in her realm.”

“You spoke to Hela?” Wait, what? Was this the older Hela or the younger? Had her daughter managed to disguise herself as the former queen or—  
“It was in a dream,” Thor added. “A ritual, to speak to the Queen of Hel.”   
Hopefully the younger, for this could not have been long after Sigyn’s own vision. But of course, if whatever it was that kept the elder Hela from her throne had ceased affecting her, as it very well may have…

“Loki is not there.”

“She said much the same to me, oh ye of little faith,” Sigyn gave a dark smile. “I do not think that Loki is lost. But in the meantime,” she made a face, finally letting the restlessness of her body resume its incessant ticking. “Thor, please. I know we’ve had our differences, but you know me. If I must linger much longer in this damned room, I will be bound to escape it myself, and cannot guarantee the survival of any mortal trying to keep me here.” He winced. “Besides,” she continued softly, as smooth as butter, “I’m sure my skills will be in demand, what with all the chaos of the Dissolution, or whatever you call the mass deaths of recent times.” Coulson had been reluctant enough even to _contact_ Thor, it struck her as unlikely that he would let her leave without some sort of concession. Besides, what else was she to do with herself as she searched?

“The skills of a sorceress,” Thor snorted. “I have little doubt you would receive a cold welcome from our people, Sigyn, even now. And Brunnhilde—have you met Brun? You’d like her, I made her king in my stead—has the surviving populace well enough in hand in any case. Perhaps you would not be most useful among the remains of Asgard, but certainly the guardianship of this _world_ could benefit from a little aid. Especially as I am the sole remaining bulwark against any magical incursions, despite my lack of skill in the area.” A hesitation. “I… do not know how long freeing you will take, but I will do what I can.”   
Sigyn forced a nod, as if it didn’t kill her to just sit here in a cell, staring at the wall, as if her skin did not itch from the overabundance of magic just waiting to be used. There was only one more question. “I heard Odin is dead…” she ventured. “What happened to Asgard?”

“What?” her words seemed to take Thor by surprise. “Odin is dead, yes, but I would have thought Loki would tell you—”

Sigyn snorted. “By the time of the Dissolution, my delightful spouse had barely spoken with me since their so-called father’s death the year before.” Her face softened. “Something was deadly wrong, I could tell that much, but it is not my policy to insist that Loki reveal all. What happened?”

  
When the new king spoke, it was a punch to the gut to hear his words, nearly whispered in the silence.

“Ragnarok.”   
Thor would not meet her eyes. “You have another sister-in-law, a goddess of death who would make Asgard an empire, who had already conquered all the nine realms before her exile. I suppose you know her. Hela. Loki and I—” and at this Thor had to choke off the start of tears, eyes fixed on the wall before him. “Loki and I started Raganarok to stop her, and brought what of Asgard had survived her reign with us to Earth. They are in Norway now. And then Thanos—”

“I know what Thanos did.” Sigyn cut him off. There was no use going over that again, the great and looming terror which Loki had murmured in her ear at night when they could not sleep. She took a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me.”

Thor nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “I will do my best to get you out of here a free woman, Sigyn.”   
“Thank you.” And as her brother-in-law turned and left, Sigyn let the rage and sadness rise in her, and at long last drain away. 

She was alone.

But at least, when the time came to continue her search, it seemed she would have aid.

~~~

Tony was woken at three in the morning in his lab by the sound of JARVIS politely attempting to clear the throat which he quite clearly didn’t have.

“Sir? Master Stark, sir, I’m so sorry to wake you, but Agent Coulson has arrived with a guest, and is requesting your attention.”  
He groaned. What had he even _been_ in the middle of when he fell asleep? A couple of screws fell from Tony’s cheek onto the desk as he sat up. Ugh. “Who the hell is this guest that needs my personal permission to come inside?”   
“An Asgardian,” came the calm response. “Should I take the liberty of awaking Master Thor?”   
An Asgardian. Who the hell was—oh God. “Tell me it isn’t Loki,” he managed. Sure, Thor would be overjoyed, but honestly Loki would cause _way_ too many problems. But then again, why would mister SHIELD agent bring a known supervillain to the Tower?   
“The guest is not Loki.”

Tony let out a long, relieved breath. “Then let Thor know, I guess. Maybe it’s some trader or something that wasn’t on Asgard when their whole Ragnarok apocalypse thing happened, some other refugee. Let them in, low clearance. And wake Thor up if by some miracle he’s still here instead of off on that wild goose chase of his. I guess I may as well head down and say hello.”

The woman standing in the darkened lobby was not what Tony Stark expected.

Tall and stocky, almost barrel-chested and with long, curly ginger hair, her cool gaze speared him through the head. Her arms were folded, her feet about as far apart as those muscular shoulders—but something about her still looked worn. Drawn. After several seconds of silence, Tony broke the ice. “Hello,” he grinned easily. “I’m Tony Stark. Also Iron Man, Thor might’ve mentioned me.”

A pause. “I am afraid I have had little contact with Thor of late,” the woman’s eyes flicked from his head to his toes, her face unnervingly neutral. “I have been off as a merchant in other realms, and rarely return to Asgard.”

“Ah.” Tony winced. “So you didn’t hear what happened to them until you got to the wreckage of where Asgard used to be, huh?”  
“I did not. Thor did, however, speak with me while I was yet in your SHIELD’s confinement.” The glare she levelled at Agent Coulson was so sharp Tony couldn’t help but pity the man, even if he seemed completely unperturbed. “I know now what has occurred, more or less, but I would greatly prefer not to join the rest of my people if it may be avoided. They are… uncomfortable with any sorcery put to uses beyond healing.” Her weight shifted to one side, then back again.   
Tony froze.   
Magic. Like Loki, whose twisted grin was still etched in his mind, eerie as hell in the blue light of the tesseract. Judging by the expression on Coulson’s face, the agent didn’t know that part either. But then, not all magic-users were bad, right? Doctor Strange, at least, was just plain stuffy. I mean, if that stick was buried any further up his ass, he’d be a scarecrow! So this woman might not be… bad. Per say.   
Just as Tony was about to speak, Thor showed up.

“Sigyn?” he sounded strangled.   
Tony whipped around to look at the god: bedraggled was the only word he could think of. Bedraggled, exhausted, frightened—

“Oh thank the stars,” Thor gave a tiny half-smile. “I have had another vision, and when I heard that you were here—”

The woman was across the lobby in an instant. “A vision?” she demanded. “Was it Loki? Do you know where it was, or—”   
Thor shook his head. “I know not, truly. I only recall colors, shapes. Motion. Whoever it was, they were not in their right mind when whatever _this_ was occurred.” His hand went to his right shoulder, massaging it seemingly on instinct. “But it was… distasteful even to the speaker, if not entirely unpleasant, even when my—their arm,” he corrected, “was so grievously injured. I can write down the specifics if you would like.”

The woman—Sigyn, apparently—deflated. “Later. Perhaps there will still be something of use, but for now…”

“Why are you looking for Loki?” Tony couldn’t keep the words from his mouth, no matter how true they felt. Seriously, why in the world did _anyone_ think that piece of weasel shit was a good idea? “Not you, Thor, I know your reasons,” he amended. Even if he didn’t agree with all that sentimental bullshit about a damned war criminal. Fortunately, Sigyn only seemed to grow a touch reserved at the question, instead of offended.

She hesitated. Finally she answered, her words slow and plainly chosen with care. “Loki has been known to evade death at the last possible second before, and they have not been found in Valhalla or in Hel. If such a source of mischief persists, would it not be… _wise_ to find them before they find us?” The answer seemed to startle Thor. “Besides, if anyone knows whether any of my children on Asgard survived, it will be Loki.”

Fair enough.   
Tony supposed it would be better to know where Loki was before they started causing problems, and if they couldn’t find them—well, at least Loki would probably be less likely to find Earth again, in turn. And if Thor vouched for her… “I suppose you’re here to ask if you can stay in my Tower?” He raised an eyebrow. Sigyn only glanced over at her king.

“Yes,” Thor said quietly. “Yes, where I may reach her, if you would not mind. It is true that Asgard as a whole cares little for magic-users of any kind, and I have trusted Sigyn with my life and more. Her skill is certainly equal with that of any other on Asgard.” His voice hardened just a tad. “Sigyn will grant your hall all the honors it deserves, should you allow her to stay.”   
Thor glanced back to the woman.   
Okay then.  
“And as one of the few surviving sorcerers I have contact with, she may be of great help in my—our—search.”

Tony waved his hand. “Great. Perfect. JARVIS can set you up on the Thor and company floor, you might run into the other space bros. Nebula’s there too, and theoretically Carol, though Carol’s usually either out in space or hanging out with that old lady she loves so much. Maria, I think that’s her name. Also a talking raccoon.” He yawned. “Look, just don’t blow too many things up, don’t kill anybody, and you should be fine. And don’t do anything too obviously magic outside the Tower. New York’s kind of a hellhole right now. Thor can show you around—just pick a bedroom on that floor, and as long as you can sort it out with any current occupants, I don’t really care.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tony had to admit, it was pretty sweet having a sorcerer on their side again.  
Sure, Sigyn wasn’t exactly a sociable sort of person; her eyes burned like liquid nitrogen when she so chose, and she was certainly direct. Maybe that was just the Asgardian way, the directness, or maybe the whole anti-social thing was part of being a sorcerer. Strange had certainly never gotten that stick out of his ass long enough to make some friends, and as far as he was concerned, Loki had never really been anything but homicidal. Even Wanda, nice though she was, had never been particularly talkative. Strange _still_ didn’t talk to anyone outside the Sanctum, really, except in that insufferably patronizing way he had, and Tony wasn’t about to call him up unless he had to. 

It took some getting used to.

But honestly, Tony had no idea how they used to deal with shit like this before all the mages showed up—okay no, he had an idea. That idea was “badly”. Thousands of civilians, pissed as all hell and getting into fistfights on the streets? Police with guns trying to contain it and catching the angry bug instead? It was a recipe for disaster for anybody trying to calm things down in person. But what the mages called “magic” made it infinitely better, because all he had to do was get her there, and Sigyn could sit down and knock everybody out in the span of an hour. Tony would have to learn how to do it, one of these days.

Sigyn opened her eyes.   
“It’s a spell,” she murmured. Her gaze was fixed in the middle distance, glowing a faint purple as her magic always did. “A spell. Powerful, but… unskilled? No, that’s not quite right. It’s… strange. Sophisticated, but not…” A frown. “No.”   
“A spell?” Tony blinked. That was a new one. Doom went quiet in Latveria after the Snap whether he was dead or not, so who else _was_ there with the magical strength to cast a spell this big? Sigyn herself? Someone from Asgard? “Can you tell where the caster is or something?”   
Her head tilted owlishly to one side. “Where? Of course not.” She sounded nonplussed.   
“Look, I don’t know anything about magic, I don’t even know what questions to ask, nobody’s been willing to teach me jack shit about it.”  
“The caster…” The glow in Sigyn’s eyes intensified. Her mouth opened to draw in a breath—  
When next she spoke, the words were barely a whisper.

“No.”   
“Uh…” Tony paused. “Sigyn?”

No response.

“Sigyn!” He did not reach out to touch her. The last time he’d tried, when she spaced out like this, he’d gotten zapped so bad he had the jitters for hours. And she still hadn’t woken up! Tony sighed. Shifted his weight within the comforting constriction of his suit. “Damnit.” _Were_ these seizures? They looked like it, like some kind of absence seizure. Maybe it was just spacing out really hard, but… well she couldn’t seem to wake up, when it happened. Neither could Thor, the few times he’d caught him in the middle of whatever this was. He just… stared, for a while, and then woke up. Tony counted the seconds, just in case. Five, ten, eleven, twelve—  
Sigyn jerked. The glow faded from her eyes.

“Well?”   
“I think I found… the caster.” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe not. It wasn’t purposeful, that’s why it felt as strange as it did. Skilled but not intentional, none of the usual safeguards, it just… happened. Heimdall!” Sigyn leapt to her feet, speaking to empty air. “Heimdall, I need to speak to Thor. It’s urgent.”

Heimdall, right. The guy with the weird eyes, who could apparently see literally everything ever. Except Loki sometimes, for some reason? Tony didn’t have the whole story. All he knew was that Heimdall was still on the refugee ship when it exploded, and somehow survived drifting in space for hours after that. Something about water, and magic, and Heimdall being an odd duck even among Asgardians. “Why Thor?” he prodded. “Aren’t I good enough? All you have to do is put them to sleep again, right?”

“Wrong.” Sigyn was back to her unshakeable calm. “As I said, there is another spellcaster involved, and a lot of power behind the spell. If I put them to sleep, then either the effects of the spell will continue on regardless, or there will be a brief break in its effects until the caster wakes again—both alerting them to my presence, and making them harder to find until their spell resumes, as that magic is my only line on them. To stop the spell, I must either tear it apart directly, at which point it becomes primarily a battle of wills, or construct a counter.”

“And a counter does what, exactly?” Tony tried not to sound too frustrated. This stuff really was interesting, it was just… hard to find anyone willing to even _try_ to explain it in terms the whole Allspeak thing could translate into English. And before the Snap, all the mages around seemed to be either learning as they go along, like Wanda, or. Well. Strange was always weirdly elusive about explaining literally anything ever, including how he learned magic in the first place. Sigyn was at least willing to try and share.  
“A counterspell is exactly what it sounds like,” the woman tilted her head. “It is a separate spell, layered over the top of the first, which reverses or blocks the effects. It becomes a battle of power, essentially, and knowledge. Of course, counterspells and tearing it apart directly both require creativity and skill, as well, but by the looks of this enchantment we may be more-or-less equally matched, there. So I would rather make a counterspell, as my long years of practice and my connection to the World Tree grant me more of an advantage in that arena over any mortal spellcaster.”  
“And you can’t just do that on your own?”  
She shot him a glare. “Perhaps I can. Perhaps not, and I would rather not be too surprised. I did say this was a powerful spell, did I not? Thor is no spellcaster, but he is imbued with the storms of Uru, and much more closely tied to the power of the World Tree than I. I would have his aid as a battery, if nothing else, before I attempt to unmake this enchantment, and he can double as transportation that we might find the caster. Overkill, if you will. Just in case.”

“Okay, okay.” Tony smirked. “I get it. Better safe than sorry.”

They waited around for an awkward minute, until—a crack of lightning split the sky. It was blinding, even now, a column of white light and deafening noise and—  
And Thor stood smoking in its place.

“Sigyn?” He asked. His hair had grown out, some, though it was still greasy and dull, mirroring the bags under his eyes. “You called?”   
“I did.” Her face was somber. “Feel this.” A tangle of green manifested about her fingertips, was pressed to the other god’s skin.   
Thor’s reaction was instantaneous, a flinch and a brief moment of shock before his face closed, shuttering all of it behind some diplomatic mask. Tony’s eyebrows rose. He’d seen evidence of Thor’s political cunning before, once or twice, but it still seemed out of character in someone so… well, so classically Viking. There was something ominous in his expression… but nothing definite.   
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Anything you two wanna tell me?”

There was a beat of silence.

Finally, Sigyn picked it up. “Only… only that this magical signature seems remarkably strong, for some Earthly sorcerer who has never been encountered before now.” Her gaze was fixed unwaveringly on her fellow Asgardian. “I may require more power than I have, on my own, if I am to track it down.”  
“Yes,” Thor cleared his throat. “Strong. I am glad you, ah, glad you called me in. Because it is so… strong. And I definitely know how to help with that.” Good to know that his confusion was shared, honestly. Even if Thor didn’t even seem to _want_ to ask any questions about all this magic bullshit, which bugged Tony to no end.

The mage rolled her eyes. “Yes, actually, you do. What you do is you sit here and you meditate until you act as a bridge between this place and the Yggdrasil.”  
“And then?”  
Sigyn’s smile was thin and cool. “And then I reach in, and pull out lightning from my hands, of course.” She turned. “I will not need you for this, Stark. No-one will touch either of us while we are encased in such power, and we are both much harder to kill than yourself in any case. We can handle this. Go home.” Her face was cool, but something about it…  
“I…” Tony bit his lip. Something wasn’t right here. But if Thor was on her side, what hope did he have of, what, forcing them both to confess? When he met Thor’s eyes, his face was solemn. It took a moment for Tony to grasp a reply. “Don’t do anything stupid, buddy.” He clapped the demigod on the shoulder. With a stiff nod, Iron Man turned, slapping his faceplate back on, and jumped off the building to fly away.

~~~

“Come here, pretty thing,” the silhouette before them blocked out the sun even more than the clouds did, “Come let me see you! I’ll take good care of you, pretty thing.”

Serrure only shrank away, pressing their back to the filthy wall.   
Cornered.   
And worse, there was no way in Hel they’d be able to climb this wall, either. No, between the wall and the dumpsters, Serrure was trapped. “Fuck off!” they snapped. “I wouldn’t come with you if you _paid_ me!”

Unsurprisingly, that only seemed to anger their aggressor. “Fine! I won’t pay you then, you vapid little shit! Now hurry up already!” Another figure showed up in the light behind the first. For a moment, Serrure felt hope seizing in their breast, until—  
“What’s taking so long, Ad? It’s just a fucking kid.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell that to my knees, Sebastien, you’re not the one who spent all yesterday lifting shit.” The first man rolled his eyes as he finally advanced.   
_No,_ Serrure thought, _no, get away from me! I don’t know even know what you want from me!_

They could _feel_ the ill intent rolling nauseating off the man when he leaned forward. One finger traced their cheek with false delicacy as he finally got close enough. Serrure jerked away, bit down as hard as they could—  
“OW! FUCK!”   
Serrure took advantage of the distraction to scramble to their feet and through the alleyway toward freedom, bashing into the wall when they reached the second human. Unfortunately, that one flung himself to the side, tackling them both to ground. So much for escape.

“Let me go!” Serrure started shouting, swearing with every filthy word that came to mind. Their captors seemed somewhat impressed by the variety, but kept a firm grip despite the words and their kicking feet. After the first few seconds, Serrure felt a strange humming in their veins. Had they been drugged? But no, this seemed to make their perceptions sharper, not worse. And whatever it was, it plainly startled the two men.

“What the fuck is that?!” the first man hissed. “Its eyes, what the hell is going on with those eyes?!”  
“Oh, yeah, playing chicken, Ad. I’m not falling for it again—”

_No._

The world blurred green and gold, and static poured from their mouth, their eyes, the pores on their skin. They knew this feeling, didn’t they? Whatever it was, it was ecstasy, bruised and hungry, and Serrure couldn’t keep themselves from laughing, suddenly relaxed even in this stranger’s grip. _  
No,_ their thought was cold, and certain when it came. _I will not be bound.  
_ And then there were cool bricks beneath them. Serrure ran blindly for the street, ignoring the shouts of the two men in the alleyway, and then every other human they passed. They ran, and ran, until their vision blurred and they finally slowed.

The Seine.   
Serrure skipped the steps entirely, dropping straight from the edge of the bridge to the concrete below. No-one else they knew could do that, but Serrure’s bones absorbed the impact without a problem, and they climbed along the ledge to a little hole inside the bridge.   
Curled up.   
Safe.

Serrure wiped tears from their face off on muddy sleeves.

They could hear chaos above them, shouting like there was some kind of riot. _What happened? Why is everyone yelling?  
_ After a moment, something tingled in their fingertips. Were they being watched? Why was it their fingertips that felt it, anyway? The only people Serrure could see was the couple on the far side of the river who had fallen into some screaming argument by the time they got here, and had now moved on to a light brawl with a small group of kids from the street. Why were they all _fighting_? There weren’t _normally_ any massive public brawls in Paris, were there? Or did they simply not remember it? Perhaps it was lost to the blur that made up all their memories since they first woke up those few bare months ago.

Hang on.   
There were two voices that _weren’t_ bickering, right above them.

“Here. I swear, Thor, this is where it feels strongest, if I don’t count that spot in the alley.” A woman’s voice, that, in gruff alto. Serrure felt something squeeze, deep in their heart. They hugged their knees to their chest.

“But there’s no-one _here!”  
_ “No, no, there must be someone.”   
“Perhaps under the bridge?” The man, Thor, asked. He sounded so sad. Why was he sad? And why did they both sound so _familiar?_  
“That is a possibility,” the woman mused. And then before Serrure knew what was happening, two figures were leaping from the bridge toward the walkway, denting the concrete faintly where they landed.

Serrure froze.   
Chin-length blond hair, scarred skin, and a beard, plus an eyepatch that sent dread curling in their stomach. And the woman was tall, with red-brown hair tied neatly in a bun, muscled like her compatriot only with a little more fat on her bones. Serrure tucked themself into their alcove as best they could. Maybe they could stay out of sight, if they tried hard enough—  
“Sigyn,” the man gasped. “Sigyn, is that—”   
“It’s not an illusion,” the woman’s voice was strained. “That’s, that’s—”  
The man edged over to their alcove, only barely managing to cling to the ledge without falling. Serrure said nothing as he approached, only glared with wildcat eyes.

“Loki?” Thor breathed.

Serrure’s words were soft, in wary allspeak. “Who the Hel are you?”   
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, forgot to post the last chapter. Enjoy!

“Who the Hel are you?”

Sigyn stared.   
She hadn’t seen Loki looking so young in… centuries. They were a _child_ again! How the Hel had this happened?! Thor had claimed they were killed when Thanos attacked Asgard’s refugee ship, and she hadn’t wanted to believe that as it was, either, but—a child?! And that reaction…

It was Thor who snapped out of it first.   
“Hello there,” he said gravely. A sad smile twisted his features. “My apologies. It was very rude of me to call you that, you simply… remind me of someone who was once very dear to me.” A wince. “My name is Thor, and this is Sigyn. We are searching for a mage, who seems to have put this whole area under a sort of spell, and you seem oddly unaffected. I am curious, that’s all.”  
The child seemed to uncurl a little, staring out at the world with wildcat eyes. Thor always did have a way with children. “Call me Serrure, I suppose.” that angular chin jutted out a little. “What will you do to this mage if you find them?”   
“That depends on what we find,” Sigyn soothed. “We expected a fight, when we first came, because this magic feels very powerful. But if whoever cast it did not know what they were doing, things will be different.”  
“There is no punishment,” Thor jumped in. His anxious eyes were fixed on Serrure. “There is nothing wrong with using magic, and accidents happen. The best option, I think, would be for whoever cast it to have simply not known what they were doing, in which case all that happens is we will need to train them. Or rather, Sigyn will need to train them,” he amended, “For I have little gift with magic.”

Serrure’s eyes narrowed. “You think I did it.”

One hesitant glance later, Thor answered, his words slow and careful. “I think it… strange that you are unaffected, though the carnage seems to be centered around your location. If you did not do it, we can simply ask you a few questions, and Sigyn can feel your energy to determine whether or not you were involved. If you will permit her.”

Seconds passed.   
Thor fidgeted where he stood.   
And then, finally, Serrure sighed a frustrated sigh and answered.

“I did it.” Those eyes were distinctly uncooperative, making Serrure look for all the world like a thin, grubby kitten. “It wasn’t on purpose. That _espèce de connard_ put his filthy hands on me and I panicked. I don’t know what happened.” They hugged their legs a little tighter. “And there was yelling, and they tried to chase me, but I just kept running, and eventually I made it here. I’ll hurt you too if you try to touch me.”  
“As you wish,” Thor bowed his head. “We will not touch you.”

Sigyn followed suit, before she spoke. “I will do nothing without your express permission, Serrure, but please. You will be bound to run into trouble with _someone_ if you do not pull your seidhr—your magic, that is—under conscious control. Give it a chance.” She looked up into those luminescent eyes, holding the child’s gaze for as long as she could. And then—

“Very well.”   
Serrure swung down from their alcove to land on the pavement of the walkway with quick-footed surety, slipping easily between Thor and the wall. “So teach me. How do I make the fighting stop?”  
Sigyn let out a sigh of relief. Sat down stiffly on the pavement. “I recommend sitting down for this, though I suppose you don’t _have_ to. Thank you for trusting me. Thor, would you please keep out of the way and guard us? I don’t want any unnecessary interruptions.” As soon as Thor had moved off by a couple meters, she placed her hands on her knees. “The first thing you want to do,” she explained, “is relax. It’s much harder to cut off the power flow to accidental magic when you’re still panicking. Our kind of magic is reality-warping, you understand. It makes the world shape itself to our minds, even if it’s not always our _conscious_ minds.”

It was cute, seeing Loki’s child face screwed up in concentration. Of course, it also unsettled her, seeing as it meant that maybe they really _didn’t_ remember anything. Sigyn tried to mask her grief and uncertainty. It would do no good to show that to the child, if they truly knew nothing; and if Loki was really under there—surely they would tell her, wouldn’t they?

It took several minutes to get Serrure to relax. They sat in silence for the first while, but when Serrure only got twitchier, Sigyn started to talk. Calmly. Gently, and about nothing in particular. She tried to avoid all thoughts of her spouse, and children, and pretend this was any other young student she’d guided through the basics of magic. It seemed to help.   
“Okay,” she gave the child one last look. The deep breaths and meditation had helped her to get herself together as well, and she was grateful for the renewed calm. Serrure certainly seemed a little more relaxed now, as well. Even if, being Loki, of course she would not put it past them to fake it. “Now somewhere inside of you, you’ll feel a… buzzing, like a faint vibration, in every sense but the physical. It feels different for everyone, but it is typically rather like a well, cool, and calm, and full of power. Strength. Energy. Whatever you want to call it. If you can’t find it yet, that’s okay—”

Serrure gasped. “Oh,” they whispered, “ _oh,_ I have it.” All that relaxation fled, replaced by a more familiar bundle of nerves. Loki used to do the same thing. She could _see_ the power on their fingertips, utterly disproportionate for a child, who had not yet had the chance to work at expanding their seidhr reserve as Loki and Sigyn both had for millennia. “What do I do with it, how do I—”

The power disappeared.

No, that wasn’t right. It didn’t fade, it—twisted, from the inside, as though someone were grabbing it and wresting it into their heart.   
The child sat completely still.

“…Serrure?” Sigyn tried to keep the worry from her voice. “Serrure! What’s going on in there?” She lunged forward in a sudden panic, not even bothering to stand. She had to see. It was an urgent ticking in her soul, she had to _see_ what they were doing or else—  
Her hand landed on the child’s knee.

~~~

The world was empty.

The world was empty, and they were falling.

Serrure had half a second to contemplate this before they hit the ground with a grunt.   
“Ow,” they groaned. Landing had _hurt,_ honestly, what even happened—oh. Odd. It didn’t hurt anymore, didn’t even sting, even though falling from such a height certainly should have bruised them, at the least. Serrure poked their right shoulder experimentally. That had been the first part of them to hit the ground, surely it had taken damage—but it wasn’t even sore. Huh. Slowly, carefully, Serrure pulled themself to their feet.

A pillar stretched out before them.   
A pillar? More like a dais, really, raised and round, enshrining a pair of horns on a headdress that gleamed golden even here, in the utter lack of light. And perched on the horns, black and white and beady green, stood a bird.   
_Magpie,_ something within them prompted. _It’s a magpie.  
_ Hmm. Serrure cast their gaze around. Maybe there would be some hint as to how they were supposed to leave this place, for whatever it was, they did not feel they should be here long. But there was—nothing. Nothing but emptiness, except for the tiny black platform and the dais and the dark. Their eyes fell back to the dais. They had a bad feeling about this. But what else was there to do?

“Hello, Mr. Magpie,” spoke Serrure. 

There was no great explosion.   
They found themself subtly surprised by that, as the fog that had gone largely unnoticed in the background coalesced before them, wreathing the entire platform in something wet and heavy and glinting green. Serrure barely registered it even now, for they were lost staring into the magpie’s eyes. The magpie’s… emerald…   
eyes…

_You have found me.  
_ Serrure felt a note of alarm, buried far away from where they drifted.  
 _Good._

That voice. Where was it coming from? It seemed to belong to the magpie, for all that not a feather moved, and its beak did not twitch. And there was something wrong about it, too, something gleeful and screaming and long since dead. If ash had a voice, it would be this.   
_You know me, even now,_ the magpie spoke. _I am the echo of a scream.  
_ Serrure drew in a sharp breath.   
_You know me._

“I do not know you,” the words were uncomfortably loud in the silence. Serrure felt anxiety pricking their palms, clenching their hands into fists. It tugged them back toward the dais, a little, and out of those mesmerizing, endless eyes. “I do not _know_ you,” they repeated.

_I am they who died, and died._ The magpie cocked its head, and the whole world tilted with it. _  
I am they who forged, and lied.  
I am horror in the dark.   
I burn before I miss my mark._

“No, no,” Serrure scrambled back. They were on all fours again, now, slipping on ground that churned under their touch like a boat tossed in a hurricane. The dais _towered_ before them, great and dark and malevolent. The horns gleamed, and the bird, and the growing mist like honey in their lungs, it spilled up, and up, and up. It filled their mind with fire, and overflowed, all flash and cold and burning fear.   
“No, I didn’t _do_ anything, I don’t _remember_ that, I don’t _know_ you! You’re insane!”

_I am freezing shadow’s light._ The poem advanced. The voice was coming from everywhere now, everywhere at once, just as the eyes of the magpie seemed to surround them. _Mayhem’s laugh that pierces night.  
I am built of gold and green.   
I am the echo of a scream. _

When the final words came, Serrure’s lips formed the shapes unbidden, as without conscious thought, they spoke.

“Who am I?”

_Thud.  
_ Serrure whipped around. If they had a heart, it would be beating wildly, for the sound had startled them so much it ripped them from their trance. Behind them—

“…what the…?” a rough voice in the darkness.  
The newcomer was Sigyn, or the woman who had introduced herself as such. Something long buried ached at the sight of her.   
“The Void?” The woman pulled herself to her feet as if she didn’t even see the pillar, or anything but the platform. She looked around—“Serrure!” Sigyn exclaimed. She was before them in an instant, hands fluttering in the air as if dying to touch them, to untangle their filthy hair, to reassure herself of their presence. “Serrure, are you alright? What are you _doing_ here, how did you even get here? I—” she broke off. Her eyes were fixed on something well behind them, beyond the pillar and the helmet and the bird.   
A hiss. Like some wounded animal, recoiling from a blow.  
But Sigyn wrenched herself into silence, after that, scrubbing at tears and flushed red cheeks while she collected herself. She buried her head in her hands. Her words, from here, were barely audible. “No. No. It isn’t them. If it were, they would tell me. They would not trick me, too.” She took a deep and heaving breath. “It isn’t them,” Sigyn repeated. “And even if they _are_ still here, it will help nothing to drag them out before due time.”   
Serrure watched her recovery in quiet.

Finally, the woman made herself look up. “Serrure?” she asked, lips pursed, old lines of grief along her cheeks. It took almost a full ten seconds before Serrure could get their lips and vocal chords and all lined up the way they should be, but they managed it.   
“Y-yes?”   
Somehow there was nothing in her voice but calm. That and patient, if strained, authority, agitated but still certain of itself. “Get us out of here.”

Having someone else command them helped. Serrure took one last look around, and pulled from their pocket a piece of chalk. They did not have a piece of chalk before arriving here. They took care to ignore this fact, because it was inconvenient, and this place was one which bent to belief. For reasons they could not quite recall, Serrure walked to the edge of their platform, and confidently drew a simple rectangle in the air. It hung, as if the air were nothing but a wall, and then above the rectangle, they wrote a word.   
“Exit?” Sigyn snorted. “It’s that simple?”   
They shrugged with one distracted shoulder. “It felt like the right thing to do.” And then Serrure reached forward and pushed on the center of the rectangle, and all of a sudden it _was_ a door, cartoonish in its simplicity. Beyond it, Serrure could just make out two bodies, kneeling by the Seine. They paused. Addressed the bird, despite the heavy nausea in their throat. “Are you coming?”   
Sigyn jumped. “But where—”

The magpie fluttered through the air to land on Serrure’s outstretched arm, and its claws were the realest thing they’d felt ever since they arrived. A flash of something sharp and absurdly happy pierced them.   
“Don’t worry about it,” Serrure smiled, stepping through the door. “It’s only me.”

Sigyn stood in the darkness for a moment.   
Her mouth closed.   
And she went home.

~~~

Sigyn opened her eyes and groaned.

“Uuurgh,” That was Serrure, assuming they were still Serrure. She could just make out their silhouette, stretched out on the pavement as if dropped there. “Why is everything so cursed _bright!?”_

Thor must have heard something concerning in all that mess, for he stood at attention above them. “Sigyn? L—Serrure? Are you two well?” Or perhaps he felt something. He had no gift for magic, but he certainly had spent long enough with sorcerers to recognize its touch.  
“Yes, yes, well enough,” Sigyn assured him. Shading her eyes helped _some,_ but she could hardly shield them completely and still adjust again to the light. “We are here. Something tugged Serrure into the Void, but we are back now.”   
“I suppose we are.” Serrure’s gaze was locked on the small flock of black-and-white birds pecking at some dropped bread on the walkway. They frowned. “Though my head hurts something awful.”

Thor shifted his weight to one side, glancing from one mage to the other. “There was something strange, like a release of pressure in my ears. Is it done?”

“It is.” The child’s words were confident. “I cannot maintain enchantments here when I am in that place, not while I remain their power source.”   
“That’s true enough,” Sigyn confirmed. “The Void is too great and empty for that. Any ties to things outside the Void simply cannot make it out before dispersing. Common magical knowledge—though I am surprised you managed to intuit it as well as you did.” She hesitated before continuing. “Just to verify—Serrure, if you access your magic again, will it pull you back?”  
The child screwed up their face in concentration. And then—“No,” they said. “It works, now, normally. I think it does, anyhow, I mean I can pull it out and move it around.”

“Good.” That was a relief.   
Sigyn gnawed on her lower lip as she thought. Serrure really did have to learn to control their seidhr properly, before they got into trouble for it, and it seemed unlikely that they had a home here. Perhaps she could take them back to the Tower? But they did bear a certain striking resemblance to Loki, of course, so maybe that would not be such a good idea…

“Is your mind made up?” Thor prompted. “I am certain we can find room for you at the Tower, if you would like to stay with us. You would have your own rooms, and privacy, and there are nearly always other people about in the common areas. And of course, the Tower has a fair library, though not an exceptional one, which I think you might enjoy.”   
Well, that was one decision made.

Serrure’s face flickered with uncertainty. “I…” their gaze darted down to something unseen, by their right hand. “Yes,” they slowly answered. “Yes, I think I shall.”   
_  
  
_

* * *

“Master Stark?”  
Tony sighed, and put down his welding. “What is it this time, JARVIS?” he asked. “You know, I thought handing the company off to Pepper would mean I had _less_ work to do, but I’m really not feeling the whole less work part right now.”

“My apologies. But I’m afraid there is another guest at the entrance.”  
“JARVIS.” He glanced up at the ceiling light where the AI’s camera was hidden. “We do tours. There are hundreds of guests in this tower every day. What’s so special about this one?”  
“Er.” That was enough for Tony to actually pay attention. JARVIS rarely stuttered, and when it was, it was purely a stylistic choice. “I’m not entirely sure, Master Stark. They are in the company of Sigyn and Thor, but I cannot even make out their face to run a scan. It is most irregular. I do not have their biometrics on record, either. Sigyn and Thor have asked to see you.”   
“You can’t even—” Magic. JARVIS wouldn’t say it like that if this guest was just wearing a mask or Juggalo makeup or something. The guest was disguised via magic. “There’s something here you’re not saying,” he frowned. “Come on, JARVIS. Spit it out.”  
The AI hesitated. He’d taken to doing that, recently, as a sort of punctuation so far as Tony could tell. It wasn’t as if he needed the extra time to think. “What details I can make out of this guest’s appearance are unnervingly… familiar. I rather think you should see for yourself, actually. They are downstairs, in the private lobby.”

“Uueeergh, fine,” Tony groaned. He should probably leave the lab again sometime today anyway, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t leave this particular bit of welding to someone else. He unplugged what needed to be unplugged, tossed the rest on a table for the time being, and wandered off to the lobby.

The “private” lobby, on the sixth floor, was a sight to behold. Glass windows stretched uninterrupted along the outside wall, the whole place luxuriously modern. The bar, on one side, Tony kept stocked—and by the time he walked in, Sigyn was already halfway through a bottle of whiskey.   
“Man of Iron!” Thor grinned. “Paris has been returned to peace!”

“Uh, yeah.” Tony rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Shot another glance at the redheaded woman drinking steadily in the corner. “Is she alright? I heard you guys have another guest.”

“That we do.” Sigyn’s voice was unusually quiet, for someone who had to be at least tipsy by now. Even Asgardians were affected by alcohol eventually. She took a long-suffering breath. “We found the mage who cast that spell over Paris.”   
“Okay? Good… job? JARVIS told me as much, he said I should come see this guest for myself.”

Thor seemed to have sobered a little, now. “They are only a child, Stark, and did not know what they were doing.”  
Sigyn jumped in again. “They were scared. Cast it by accident. I’ll swear that to you gladly, I already knew the situation reeked of accidental magic by the time I found them. And I tested them, as well, once they disbanded the spell. They really do not seem to know how to control it.”   
“They were not even aware of happened, and cannot be blamed.”

“Okay, is it just me or are you nervous about showing me this kid?” Tony frowned. They had to be hiding something, if they kept putting it off like this. He’d thought something seemed weird about how they left. “First JARVIS doesn’t want to tell me anything, now you two think I’m gonna, what, burst into flames? What’s the problem here? I mean seriously, if nothing else we need more magic-users on our team. If the only option is a kid, then I’m fine with that kid living here where they can be protected.”  
The two demigods shared a long look.

And then the kid stepped out from between them.

Tony felt his eyes widen, his throat catch. “Is that—”

“No!” Both Asgardians shouted. “No,” Thor put a calming hand on Sigyn’s shoulder. “This is not Loki. Sigyn has been inside their mind, or near enough, she can be sure. Man of Iron, meet Serrure.”   
The kid gave a sheepish sort of wave. That… didn’t look like how Loki would behave, unless they were _way_ less absurdly self-confident and generally sure of themselves than they had been before. Even if the physical resemblance was positively uncanny _._ Tony let out a slow, shaky breath. He needed a drink. “Serrure,” Thor continued after a brief, awkward pause, “Is the one who cast the spell in Paris. By accident. And in self-defense. They were assaulted by a pair of strangers in an alley, and reacted out of fear and adrenaline, as often happens with new magic-users. And because they have no other place to live, they agreed to come here in order to learn from Sigyn how to control their magic, at our suggestion. Where they will be _safe._ ”

Tony let out a hollow laugh. “Him. Safe.” One hand went running shakily through his hair. Maybe the resemblance _was_ just a coincidence, and the kid _happened_ to also speak fluent English with a vaguely Asgardian accent despite having been found in France. And to have the same sort of ridiculously powerful magic. And an affinity for the color green. The Asgardians certainly seemed convinced, and they _were_ the ones with the most experience with Loki. But then, these two in particular actually seemed to think there was something _good_ about that maniac.

“We cannot take them to Asgard,” Sigyn’s eyes were sharp as flint despite the drink. “The people of Asgard _knew_ Loki as a child, and they hate all but the most benign of magics in any case. They would not take well to Serrure any more than they would to me—and the last time I returned alone, it was only my own seidhr which kept me safe from attack. I suppose if you insist, we can find for them an apartment somewhere, some other place to live, but Thor and I agree that we must be around to protect them, no matter where that is, to keep an eye on them. You would not have the use of us elsewhere. Besides, learning the use of seidhr is a dangerous matter, and you do not want a completely untrained reality warper running around. Especially not one with this level of power. Even at their most unstable, Loki would be better. Without training, Serrure could level a city block by accident—or do much worse without anyone knowing it was them, themself included. There is a very good reason why reality warpers are widely considered some of the most dangerous.” 

“To be honest here, I’m not completely convinced this is a good idea. _Or_ that Loki has nothing to do with this. But you know what?” Tony heaved a great sigh, and fished a bottle of tequila out from behind the bar to take a long pull before he continued. The alcohol burned, all the way down to his stomach. “You know what? Fine. If the kid causes trouble, he’s out.” 

“If he doesn’t?” He was definitely going to regret this. “Then welcome to the team, I guess. Natasha’ll be delighted.”

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things that always bugs me in the MCU especially is that we have all these characters that are established to be really clever, like Loki-- but who get into trouble without so much as preparing an exit route beforehand, or a place to retreat to or anything! So no. Fuck that. Smart characters prepare for the worst-case scenario, when the opportunity arises.  
> Anyway  
> Thanks for reading! I hope you folks enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :3


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